Happy Birthday Canada
by Hyper Kid
Summary: It's Canada's 150th birthday, and everyone seems to have forgotten! Luckily America comes over to "save the day" and to get help planning his own party... but is it all for the 4th of July?


HK: First, last, and only, happy Canada Day!

WARNINGS! None!

Disclaimers: I still own nothing. It's so frustrating.

/

It was the first of July, sunny, hot, and humid. All of the windows in Canada's house were open in a desperate attempt to coax in a breeze. So far, no good.

Canada groaned softly from his seat on the couch, closing his eyes against the blinding sunlight. Today would mark his official one hundred and fiftieth birthday since becoming a nation, and he was sat home alone. Well. Alone except for his sisters.

Sister Canada and Quebec were in the kitchen and he could hear them arguing loud and clear. Alone might be slightly better, really. A knock at the door brought a glimmer of hope, and Canada pulled himself up quickly before either of the ladies noticed.

"I'll get it!" He couldn't help but half jog to the door, not just to get out and away. Someone, anyone, must have remembered. He'd just began opening the door when it pushed itself wide, identifying the visitor more than the gleeful yell of 'Canada my bro!' ever could. "Hey America," Canada managed as he was swept up in a huge bearhug.

"Do you know what day it is!" The older nation exclaimed exuberantly, and a small smile pulled across Canada's face.

"Of course I…"

"Three more days to Freedom Day!" And just like that, Canada felt his heart sink. Of course, he shouldn't have expected otherwise. America forgot his birthday every year in the coming rush to the fourth of July and America's own birthday.

But he had hoped that this one year, someone else might remember. But America was so happy, so obviously excited, that Canada couldn't ruin it with his disappointment. At least his brother was here, right?

"Yeah," he agreed, pulling up a smile. "So what brings you over?"

"Fireworks!" America clapped his hands together, grinning widely. "We're gonna have a really big display this year, so I need you to come help me pick them up!" Canada bit his lip, considering.

"I was going to stay in today… maybe go visit Dad later on, or Mom…" Surely at least one of his parents would have remembered. America shook his head vehemently and grabbed Canada by the shoulders to pull him in close.

"No no no. You can't do that. That's boring! And I need you! Pleeeeeease?" He pulled out the big guns, the patented Puppy Eyes of Doom and Canada gave in.

"Okay… I'll just tell my sisters where I'm going." He made to turn back inside but America's grip didn't let up.

"Nah, don't worry about it, my sister's coming by later on, something about finding gay nests or whatever she's doing now." He waved a hand dismissively, clearly not seeing what the girls were going to do as anywhere near as exciting as fireworks. "She knows where we're going. Now we gotta hurry, the shipment should be arriving soon!"

Without actually waiting for Canada to agree, America began dragging him out the door and down the driveway towards his large and bulky truck. Canada protested feebly for a few seconds before deciding that… well, at least his feet were still on the ground.

It was just easier to go along with whatever America wanted, really. Once both young nations were strapped in and ready to go America revved the engine, backing quickly out of the driveway with one arm resting on the open window.

/

Canada glanced out the window at the trees zipping by. Spending the day with his brother wasn't the worst way to spend a birthday. And at least he didn't have to be home when Brother Quebec arrived and got into an argument with his sister yet again about whether "Happy Birthday Canada" included them too.

He was beginning to cheer up as they drove, America singing loudly along with Katy Perry on the radio, until he noticed something a little odd.

"Uh… America, where are we going? You didn't buy fireworks from some lonely guy in the woods again, did you?" He asked a little anxiously. It wouldn't be the first time… America just waved a hand vaguely.

"Nah, we just have to make a few stops first, getting things sorted out. It won't take a minute, promise." He sounded less certain than usual, less full of bluff and bluster. Canada frowned, his fears only rising.

"Are… are you sure?" America being vague never led to anything good, because it almost always meant he was doing something that he knew he shouldn't.

"Of course I'm sure," America scoffed, giving a conspicuously fake laugh. "We're getting them from China, he does all the best ones!" Canada watched his brother nervously.

"Then what else are we going for?" He had to admit, China did make the best fireworks. So if it wasn't fireworks… "Are we buying drugs?"

"What? No! Don't be ridiculous!" America actually took both hands off the wheel this time to wave at his brother. "I have a very firm stance on drugs! No drugs in this body. Nope. Not ever." Canada's brows drew in in confusion.

"I thought we both agreed about legalizing marijuana?"

"Marijuana isn't a drug, it's medicine," America insisted firmly as the car began to swerve, grabbing the wheel again. Canada kept looking at him expectantly, waiting. "And we're not getting marijuana," America finally added once he worked out what was going on.

"Oh." Canada shrugged, sinking back in his seat. "I suppose that makes sense. Cuz I've got some okay stuff growing at my place we could use." He could convince himself that America calming down would definitely be a medical use. Otherwise his brother's heart could explode.

America shot him a scandalised look.

"You're growing drugs?! You could be locked up for life if anyone caught you!" And just a little too late, Canada remembered that his brother was still flip flopping back and forth with the speed of light on the issue.

"Uh… not really? We're legalising it."

"Cool. Won't have to go to Europe to smoke in the streets again." America nodded cheerfully, back on the upswing between one sentence and the next.

Canada decided to change the subject before he got whiplash.

"Then what are we picking up?" he prodded again, watching his brother cautiously from the corner of his eye. The larger man stiffened and Canada's eyes narrowed just a little. Oh, his brother was definitely hiding something.

"PLUGS." America almost shouted, his tone as wooden and dead as if he had been a particularly bad ventriloquist. Canada debated pushing the matter, but in the end it probably wouldn't be worth it. America could be – no, okay, always was – stubborn and intractable. He settled back in the seat and decided to wait and see.

It took almost a full hour of driving through the woods before they stopped in front of a little wooden cabin that looked exactly like every horror movie ever. Canada sank down in his seat as they pulled up.

"Uh… America, why are we here?" He couldn't imagine anything good actually coming of this visit.

America waved a hand unconcernedly.

"Just putting in a few orders for the big day. You can wait here if you like." His calm was not actually reassuring in the least, and nor was the vagueness. Canada nodded quickly and clutched at his seatbelt.

"Yeah… I can do that. Hurry?" It definitely looked like the kind of place that would be hung with human trophies. America chuckled unconcernedly, unstrapping his own belt and pushing open the truck's door. He didn't even seem to be wearing his gun from what Canada could see, but then again… America could pull that thing from nowhere.

"Oh, I'd better crack the windows!" America realised abruptly, grinning in at his brother. "Wouldn't want my new puppy overheating in here." He pressed the button to roll the windows down a little as Canada glanced around, confused.

Puppy? Oh. He was the puppy.

He shot America a baleful glare, saw how far down the windows were, and shook his head quickly.

"No, no! That's okay! We don't want murderers or bugs getting into the car!" His hands waved almost in a panic as he blurted out the words. America gave him a bemused look, grinned, and rolled the windows up a little more.

"Better?" There was still a crack about an inch wide, but Canada checked and he certainly couldn't put his hand through it.

"Yeah… okay." He agreed reluctantly, waving at his brother. "Just be quick, okay?" Hanging out with his brother was one thing (and he wasn't even being worn like a hat!) but sitting alone in a car in what was definitely a horror movie set was another entirely. Worst. Birthday. Ever.

America just laughed (the maniac) and closed the door, clicking on the remote to lock it.

"Yeah, yeah. Just sit tight, I'll be out soon!" He disappeared into the cabin and Canada shuddered. There went any hope he had of escape.

/

Being out in the woods wasn't actually much of a problem for Canada; most of his land was still covered in forests. He felt himself beginning to relax as he looked around the tall standing pines, and wondered if there might be any bears there. Bears were good. Well. Not the polar bears.

As he relaxed, he noticed for the first time that it wasn't just the smell of pine creeping in through the window. He leaned closer to the gap, his brows furrowing in curiosity, and drew in a deep breath. The air smelled of…

Bread?

Trust America to know a baker this deep in the woods. Secretly happy it wasn't the smell of cooking meat, Canada relaxed a little more. Of course, friendly smells didn't mean all danger was gone. Enough people filmed in Vancouver and Toronto that he was still all too familiar with the clichés.

Yeah. They'd begin to relax, let their guard down… and then the occupants would strike.

Canada flinched at the thought, sitting up again. That was not a helpful thought. He began to fiddle with his phone, checking that he had service.

Well, obviously. Why would his phone have service? That was horror movie 101. Canada groaned, his head thunking back against the seat.

"We are going to die." He said flatly, closing his eyes in resignation.

"Who's going to die?"

Canada barely managed to stifle a scream as he straightened and flailed, one hand smacking against the window of the car. America snickered, stepping back from the window and climbing back into the car. Still breathing heavily, Canada glared at him.

"Not cool." The glare didn't seem to be particularly effective.

"Totally cool," America argued, snickering as he started the car. "Okay, we just have a few more stops and we can go grab the fireworks."

Canada huffed, sinking down in his seat once more.

"Yeah, great. Just not here, right?"

/

As it happened, all of the next stops seemed significantly more normal (for America, anyway). They left the forest and headed back towards civilization, stopping off at a caterer's, a place to rent ridiculously large furniture, and a liquor store.

Canada eyed the contents of the bill from the liquor store (there was too much for even America's truck, it was all being delivered) with a quiet envy.

"You must be planning quite the party," he said softly, something clenching in his chest. He had thought about planning something for his own birthday this year, but when he called around Britain and Australia had both told him they were busy with Brexit and sharks respectively. France hadn't even picked up the phone.

America glanced over at him, grinned, and nodded.

"Well, yeah, it's a special occasion!" Normally he would have gone on to brag about gaining his freedom, kicking England's butt, or how great the party was going to be, but today he left it at that. Canada didn't notice, stowing the receipt in the glove compartment with the others.

"Right…" He sighed softly, glancing at the clock. He had thought going out with America would be fun, that they'd be able to hang out and have a good time. Watching his brother buy fancy and elaborate party supplies on his birthday had not been the plan.

It was already five in the afternoon, and they were just heading towards the docks to pick up the fireworks now. America had insisted on swinging by his place to attach a flat bed trailer almost twice as long as the truck. Standing on the trailer while America hooked everything up hadn't helped much.

Of course, America was entirely oblivious to his souring mood, hopped up on excitement for his own party. Canada couldn't bring himself to overtly say anything to bring him down; not just because he could be really annoying when he was down.

"Hey, America?" He asked, looking up to his brother. "After this, can you drop me off at my place?" A flash of panic shot across America's face, almost too fast to see, and he checked the clock himself.

"Uh… yeah, I think so. I was thinking we could have dinner together, my way of saying thanks for your help?" Those words cheered Canada up a little and he smiled, nodding.

"Yeah, that could be fun…" He hadn't done much by way of helping, not really, but he'd take any excuse for some company. America beamed at him, turning the wheel to slide the truck into the unloading area of the docks.

"Great! I was thinking barbecue. We can pick up some great steaks, chicken wings, all that on the way home!" He twisted the wheel a little more, sliding the trailer in alongside a crane and a large shipping container.

Canada hopped down out of the car, wondering how many fireworks America had actually ordered. A dock worker was already making his way over. If they were going to be unloading that container, it would take ages…

"Hey, America, you want me to just set it all on the trailer?" The dock hand asked cheerfully, jerking a thumb behind him at the crane. As America nodded, Canada felt his jaw drop. The whole container. All of it. He looked from the container to America's trailer, trying to find words.

"Will… will we even be able to tow that?" He asked weakly, staring up at his brother. America glanced back at him, grinning.

"Oh yeah, there's nothing stronger than one of my trucks!" He declared proudly. Canada could already ~see~ the engine crapping out, the two of them waiting dejectedly on the side of the road for an actual truck to come and hook it up.

He'd never get home.

The dock worker agreed that it was better to be safe than sorry, though, so all three delved into the manufacturer info buried under receipts in the glove box. The approximate weight of the container was already on the shipping manifest, and America was unbelievably smug when it turned out to be one kilo under what the truck was rated for.

One kilo.

Canada insisted they take nothing but flat or downhill roads all the way home.

A few minutes later, bearing a pair of tiny lightsabres like they used to guide airplanes down, Canada waved the suspended container over the trailer from one side. America was on the other, making sure that they didn't go too far that way and they both backed up slowly, guiding the container forward until it lined up.

There was about a foot of space on each side, if that. It was a delicate operation.

Luckily it was also the kind of operation done all day, every day on the docks, so it didn't take more than three tries. America kept yelling at the last second that it was slanty, or coming down too fast. Canada assumed it was just him panicking about his beloved trailer.

It was almost two hours before the trailer was packed down to America's satisfaction, strapped in place and not going anywhere, and Canada was getting hungry.

"Maybe we should barbecue another day?" He offered, glancing at the time. America looked over too, humming thoughtfully.

"Nah, we can just stop at the grocery store on the edge of town. Won't take more than half an hour." He sounded oddly satisfied about that, and Canada frowned.

"I'm sure I have something at home we can eat…" But once again, America waved his concerns away.

"It won't be long! I'll have you home in another hour and we can get cooking." As usual he didn't sound ready to listen to any arguments. Canada looked at the clock again, sighed, and shrugged.

"Yeah, okay… I've eaten dinner later before." Eight o'clock was a little late to be getting at home, but he supposed it wasn't the worst. They'd picked up lunch a little late too. America nodded cheerfully, climbing up into the truck.

"And you know my cooking is worth it!"

/

It was still light by the time they finally made it home, though that was only because it was still closer to midsummer than not. The sun was definitely on the way down, just beginning that distinctively dreadful dusk gleam as they turned onto the street. Canada squinted against it, frowning.

The house looked… odd.

It was eerily quiet too as they pulled up, and once they were close enough Canada realised that the house looked odd because it was covered in balloons and flags, with a massive banner strewn across the roof. He turned to his brother, jaw gaping.

"You didn't…" He hadn't believed America could keep any secrets anymore. America beamed, proud of himself as they pulled to a stop along the street (because that trailer was just too big).

"You didn't think I'd forget your big day, did you bro?" Since that was exactly what Canada had thought, it was lucky he was stunned speechless. America laughed, clapping his brother on the shoulder and stepping out into the warm summer air. "Happy birthday, Canada."

The words were echoed by a loud chorus as what seemed like not just all the family, but every friend and ally they had came swarming out of the house and garden. A wide smile stretched across Canada's face as the army of well wishers ushered him around to the backyard.

There was the ridiculously huge furniture they'd ordered… A groaning and overstocked bar… and a long table near entirely covered in a gorgeous red and white iced cake, the words "Happy 150 Canada" written along its length.

To his mild shame, he felt himself tearing up.

"I thought… I thought you were all busy," he managed as England and France escorted him on either side to a pair of seven foot tall Muskoka chairs in the place of honour. Sister Canada was already sat in the other one.

England waved a hand dismissively, a gesture America had copied long ago.

"Don't be silly, dear boy. We would never forget your birthday!"

"He is right," France agreed, shooting the other nation a warmer smile than normal. "For your birthday, especially this birthday, we can always make time."

Unable to find words yet again, Canada pulled both of his parents into a tight hug. England patted him on the back somewhat awkwardly, and France kissed both of his cheeks.

"Happy birthday, Canada."

/

HK: there'll be a little more of this later I think. The party itself, maybe Sister Canada's day. But I wanted to have this up today!


End file.
